“Well, hello,” Ferris said in his jovial voice. “Look at all these visitors. Are they all here to see you, Seth?”
Seth nodded and made introductions. As he spoke, I felt Carver watching me.
“It’s very nice to meet you. I just brought Seth on board earlier this week, and we are looking forward to setting to work just as soon as Carver finishes his report.”
“Report?” Mom asked.
Ferris stood a little straighter. “Winthrope Manor is nearly two hundred and fifty years old. It’s a historic estate, and as such, I need to take that history into account during the restoration.” He clapped Carver on the shoulder. “This man is the foremost authority on Aberdeenshire history, so of course, I hire the best. Isn’t that right, Carver?”
Carver’s lips curved into a smile. “You’re too kind,” he said, but he said it in such a way that gave the impression he didn’t think Ferris too kind at all. “It’s essential that we study and learn from the old buildings and monuments in the area in order to preserve history. Ferris had been very kind in letting me do that.” He glanced at me. “Others have not been that open.”
I frowned at him and wondered if I was looking into the eyes of the man who’d killed my garden. Was it fair of me to suspect him just because he’d expressed interest in the garden in the past?
“It’s nice to see you again, Carver,” I said.
He smiled as if he knew I was lying.
“Do you know each other?” Ferris asked.
“Why yes,” Carver said. “Fiona visited me while I was working on the chapel restoration project in the summer. She had many questions about it.”
He didn’t say I’d had many questions because he was a suspect for murder at the same time I was. I thought it best if my parents never found out I had been a murder suspect … twice.
“That’s nice to hear. I didn’t know about your interest in history, Fiona,” Ferris said. “We must grab a pint at the pub sometime to chat about this.” He turned to Seth. “Why don’t you and I show your friends around?”
“I should be off,” Carver said. “I’ll begin working on that report. I’ll be in and out of the manor while I’m drafting it.”
Ferris shook his hand. “I appreciate all the time you’re spending on it. I want to do this right.”
Carver nodded and walked toward a blue sedan parked a few yards from the manor.
Ferris clapped his hands. “Now, let’s go inside, and Seth and I will show you all the fabulous things about this estate.” He opened the large door, and it creaked. Seth, my sister, and my parents followed him inside.
I turned and followed Carver.
Carver leaned against his car as I approached. “I had a feeling you would want to talk to me, Miss Knox.”
I frowned.
“What can I help you with?”
One of the most difficult things about Carver Finley was that he was distractedly handsome. He was well-built in a thin, academic way and had green piercing eyes, perfect hair, and just enough stubble on his face to look like he wasn’t trying too hard.
I stared at him. Did I just come right out and ask if he’d hurt my garden? That seemed to be a little too direct, but maybe being direct was what I needed to get some answers from him.
He opened the driver’s side door to his car. “If you have nothing to say to me, I will be on my way.”
“My caretaker Hamish said you visited Duncreigan and asked to see the garden.”
He closed the car door. “I did. The old man said no.”
“As he should have,” I replied. “You need my permission to go into the garden.”
“Something as of yet that I haven’t obtained. You can’t judge a man for trying another tactic to get what he wants.”
“And what is it that you want with Duncreigan?”
He leaned in close to me, so close that his nose was just inches from my face. I refused to step back.
“What I want is to understand the history of County Aberdeen. It’s all I have ever wanted. Yet for reasons I can’t understand, you refuse to give me access to a vital piece of that history, your garden.”
I didn’t say anything.
He stepped back. “What do you think I would do if you let me into the garden?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “What have you already done?”
“What do you mean by that?” He leaned on the car again.
“Have you been inside the garden?”
“How would I do that when you haven’t given permission?”
“That’s not exactly a no,” I said.
“Are you accusing me of something?”
I was quiet for a moment and then said, “Should I be?”
He laughed and opened his car door again. “This conversation is going nowhere. Just remember, Miss Knox, I get what I want.” He climbed in his car and drove away.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I watched Carver speed away, knowing I hadn’t handled that well at all. Maybe I should have come right out and asked him if he had been in the garden. I sighed and turned back to the manor. I thought I saw movement on the widow’s walk, but when I cranked my neck back to look up to the third story, no one was there.
I shook off the eerie feeling that the shadow I’d seen or thought I’d seen gave me. I walked to the front door and pushed it inward. The door was made of heavy wood, and a willow tree had been carved into the front of it with three birds on its limbs.
Inside, the building was dark except for the light that fought through the dusty windows. The manor’s door opened into a great entry. A chandelier hung from the ceiling thirty feet above my head. I saw that the base of the chandelier was no longer affixed to the ceiling; the giant piece hung precariously from its electrical wires. One more gust of wind and it was coming down.
To my left was a massive dining room with a table that could have easily sat twenty people in its heyday. There weren’t any chairs around the table. Behind it was a marble fireplace with a hearth large enough for me to stand inside. The rug was worn, and the wallpaper was water-stained. To my right was a drawing room, and it was completely empty. The wallpaper was a faded peacock pattern that I imagined had once been startlingly lifelike. I stepped into the drawing room for a better look at the wallpaper.
I peered at the paper, and there was a creak behind me. I spun around just in time to see the giant front door slam shut. I hurried over to the door, and it took all my strength and both hands to throw it open. When I finally did, whoever had been there was gone. I frowned.
The only people who should be at the manor now were the construction workers, my family, and Ferris. What reason would any of them have to run away from me?
I looked down at the stone steps that led to the driveway. There was a dusty footprint on one of them, leaving the house. It could have been there a while. If could have belonged to any of the men working in the manor, but I suspected it was a footprint left behind by whoever had fled the house.
“The manor was built in 1772 by an English gentleman who wanted to get away from busy London life. He’d made his wealth in the shipping industry and came here with his family to retire. The descendants of that man owned the home until 1960, when it was foreclosed on and taken by the banks. By that time, the home was in disrepair, and the bank could not sell it until I came along.” Ferris’s voice floated to me.
I stepped back into the manor and let the door close with a thud. My parents, Isla, Seth, and Ferris were in the dining room. They all seemed to be listening to Ferris’s tale with interest. My mother no longer had a scowl on her face, so perhaps she was warming up to the idea of Isla having a Scottish almost-fiancé.
“The bank was more than happy to unload that manor on me. I got it at a higher price than I first thought I would have to pay because there was another party bidding against me. I supposed, since I could up my bid and pay in cash, there was little chance of them taking it.”
“Do you know who the other party was?”
Isla asked.
Ferris shook his head as I joined the group. “No idea. I know it wasn’t anyone from Bellewick. I would have heard the gossip from that. My guess it was another Londoner looking to make a summer vacation home in Scotland, just like the Queen.” He chuckled.
“How long do you think it will take for the restoration?” Mom asked.
Ferris rubbed his chin. “A year at least, but I’m budgeting time for two years. If there is one thing I have learned in business, it’s that everything takes longer than you think it will. That goes for fishing and construction.”
“Isn’t that the truth,” Dad said.
Ferris glanced at the watch on his wrist. “I would love to stay here longer and show you more, but I have a meeting at the harbor with one of my boat captains. The fishing never stops. Will you show them out, Seth?”
Seth promised he would.
After Ferris left, my mother turned to me. “Fiona, where have you been all this time? You didn’t go with us on the tour.”
“I—I walked around outside the manor.”
Mom pressed her lips together as if she didn’t believe me. I didn’t blame her. It was a lame lie, with a poor delivery to boot. “Well, Isla,” Mom said. “I still am concerned about your vision, but it seems to me that Seth has some stable work for the next couple of years. In this economy, you can’t ask for much more than that. Even so, I do wish that you would come home to the farm.”
“You never ask Fiona to come home to the farm anymore,” Isla whined. “It’s only me. She could take care of the farm as much as I could, probably better, since she is so good with plants.”
“Fiona’s responsibility is Duncreigan. It was always going to be Duncreigan,” my father said. “That was part of the agreement.”
I shivered, feeling like a bargaining chip. What he said made the cottage and garden feel more like a sentence than a gift.
Isla wrinkled her small nose. “What agreement?”
Mom, Dad, and I didn’t look at each other. The answer to Isla’s question was a loaded one, and I didn’t think any one of us wanted to get into it with her when we hadn’t even dealt with it ourselves.
“I know something is going on, and I will find out what it is,” Isla said. “Come on, Seth.” She took her boyfriend by the hand and led him out of the manor.
I glanced at my parents. “Do you want to talk about it now?”
“Talk about what?” my mother challenged. “I think it’s time for us to go back to the village.” She took my dad’s hand. “Stephen?”
Dad followed her out the door.
I sighed and went outside, where I found my parents already waiting in my car. We drove back to Bellewick in silence. When we reached Thistle House, my mother jumped out of the car and stomped inside. My dad watched her from the back seat.
He reached forward and placed a hand on my shoulder. “It’s hard for her, being back here. You have to understand that. She loves me. I know this, but she also loved Ian.” Dad’s voice shook as if that was difficult to say. “She took his death much harder than either one of us thought she would. She’s dealing with a lot, including missing you girls.”
I gripped the steering wheel, unable to speak. There were so many questions I wanted to ask him now that I had his undivided attention. But I couldn’t seem to formulate them.
Dad opened the door to the car, and I knew I had lost my chance. “Just know,” he said in a quiet voice, “I did what I thought was best for you and your mother. Maybe we handled it wrong as you grew up, but we just wanted to keep you safe from hurt.”
Before I could say anything, he got out of the car and followed my mother’s path into Thistle House.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I knew I should go back to the flower shop and relieve Presha of her post. She had been so kind to watch the shop while Isla and I were gone, but I realized there was another murder suspect I hadn’t considered: Owen Masters, Barley’s manager. I was reminded of him when, a few seconds after my parents went over the troll bridge to Thistle House, he stomped over the bridge toward the community lot carrying a briefcase.
This was an opportunity not to be missed. I jumped out of my car. He walked under the village arch in the direction of an expensive-looking sports car. He had told me the day Barley died that he was a rich and powerful man. It seemed he wanted his car to show that too.
“Mr. Masters,” I called, and stepped between him and the car.
He pulled up short and blinked at me. It was clear he hadn’t noticed me standing there until I spoke. “Aren’t you the flower girl?”
“Fiona Knox. I’m a member of the Merchant Society of Bellewick,” I said in my most official voice.
He groaned. “What do you want? I’m in a hurry.”
Oh-kay. I had a suspicion that music manager Owen Masters was always in a hurry.
“I just wanted to talk to you about Barley for a moment,” I said.
He stared at me. “Why would I talk to you about Barley?”
I tried to keep my face neutral, but internally I winced. It was a fair question. “Well, the Merchant Society feels just awful over what happened, and—”
“As you should! Do you even know how much money Barley’s homecoming concert to Bellewick is going to cost me?”
I blinked at him.
“Millions of dollars. Millions! Barley could have been on the stage for another twenty years, playing sold-out concerts. He had the potential for even bigger and better record deals. It didn’t matter that he was a man pushing seventy; the kind of music he played didn’t have an age limit. It’s not pop!” He waved his briefcase in the air for emphasis.
I took two big steps back so that I was out of range of the swinging briefcase. “I would have thought you would be more upset over Barley’s death than the money lost.”
He stopped swinging his briefcase as if he’d just realized how awful and selfish he sounded. “Yes.” He coughed. “Yes, of course, I’m upset Barley is dead. He meant a lot to me. I was his manager for over a decade.”
I folded my arms. “He meant a lot to you because of who he was, or because he made you a lot of money? I’m thinking the latter.”
Owen narrowed his eyes at me. “Listen to me, florist, you have no idea—no idea—how cutthroat and tough the music industry really is. Even in a genre of music like Barley McFee’s. Musicians like Barley will do anything to stay at the top. They will hold others back if necessary.”
“Like Kenda?” I asked. “Did he hold her back?”
He relaxed his shoulders. “Let’s just say that he recognized her talent and that it was a threat to him.”
I took that as a yes.
“Did he ever hold you back?” I asked.
He laughed. “He made my life hell. He was a demanding client, but like I said, he made me rich too. I would crawl through the mud to make that man happy because he made my bank account happy.”
“So you had no reason to kill him.”
He laughed again. “Have you listened to a single word I’ve said? No, I would never have killed Barley, no more than I would cut off my own foot. And if that’s not enough for you, I have an alibi. Ask anyone on the stage crew. I was on the stage all through intermission sweating bullets because Barley was gone so long. You even saw me there too.”
He was right. I had.
“Now I’m leaving this village with no plans to come back. I was just at the guesthouse trying to talk some sense into Kenda about her future career, but apparently she has chosen not to sign me as her manager. That’s her loss. She will need all the luck in the world to find a manager who can make her half the money I would have been able to make her.”
But I bet she would have an easier time finding a kinder manager who’s a much better human being, I thought. I liked Kenda Bay a little bit better for the choice she’d made about her career.
He stepped around me just as a high-pitched voice called, “Mr. Masters, I’m so glad I caught you.” Bernice half jogg
ed, half walked toward us.
“Dear Lord, will I ever be able to get out of this village?” Owen complained.
Bernice caught her breath. “I’m so glad I caught you,” she repeated. She glanced at me. “Well, hello, Fiona.”
I nodded.
Bernice shook her head as if she didn’t have time to ask me why I was standing there with Barley’s manager. She turned back to Owen. “I know you not only lost a friend but an important client. I was hoping to hear that you can make a go of it with Kenda and the MacNish brothers. I do love fiddler and folk music like they play. They all seem to be very good musicians.”
I winced. Bernice hadn’t been here when Owen went on a rant about Kenda turning down his offer to be her manager.
Bernice gave Owen a hopeful smile. It was clear to me that Bernice would do anything to put a positive spin on what had happened. I couldn’t say I blamed her. I knew she felt responsible for what had gone wrong at the homecoming concert, even though she wasn’t responsible for Barley’s death.
He scowled at her. “That’s not an option.”
She sighed. “I am sorry to hear that. I just want to say, Mr. Masters, just how sorry everyone in the village is over what happened.” She paused. “We hope that the village won’t be shone in a poor light after what happened.”
Owen looked down at her like he was a scientist examining a speck of mold. “You can trust me when I say that I will never send an act to Bellewick again.”
I personally didn’t think that was much of a loss. Bellewick had been fine before Barley’s concert, and there weren’t any other famous musicians I knew of who might want to host a homecoming concert in the little fishing village.
“Oh, I do know how upsetting this must have been for you, and we understand your decision. But we would greatly appreciate that there not be any bad press about the village. As you know, what happened to Barley could have happened anywhere. He’s a famous man, and I’m sure there are many crazy fans that are so delusional that murder pops into their heads.” She smiled brightly, like she was talking about a beautiful spring day.
Mums and Mayhem Page 17
